


whistleblower.

by Skyuni123



Series: benthan week 2019 [5]
Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Developing Relationship, Fights, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 14:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20311105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyuni123/pseuds/Skyuni123
Summary: ethan's stuck in a remote country and he needs to escape without running into strife.enter benji, his bodyguard.(everyone tends to underestimate him.)





	whistleblower.

“You’re kidding.” Will takes another look at the man. “You’ve got to be kidding me. He’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt, for chrissakes, Ethan!”

Ethan takes another look at the man. He is wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and jeans that fit just right. There’s nothing wrong with the look, but it’s not for him. “Thank you for stating the obvious, Will. Your point?”

“My  _ point  _ is that he doesn’t look like he could guard a kitten, much less you.” Will has his hands on his hips. It’s not a good look.

“He was the only person that they could send in to get me, Will. I’m sure he’ll be just fine.” Ethan pats his chief of security on the shoulder, in a way that’s only a little demeaning, and goes to join the bodyguard.

Benji Dunn is 5’10, not visibly armed, and uncomfortably relaxed for the situation at hand. He’s skinny, too, and he certainly looks more like a computer programmer than a bodyguard, which is a little concerning, thinking about it all.

A tech company CEO - amongst other things - Ethan Hunt does not lead an easy life, and considering the circumstances (stranded in a desert city, needing to get out without running into the military police on his tail), Will perhaps has something to be worried about. 

“Ethan,” Benji says, beaming widely. He’s  _ likeable,  _ that’s the thing. Most bodyguards do nothing more than stare off into the middle distance, presumably casing the joint or something, but Ethan’s known Benji for twenty minutes and if anything happened to him he’d be devastated. “You about ready to head off?”

“You seem remarkably calm considering my life is on the line.” Ethan feels like he should probably be more annoyed, but really, Benji is just… nice. and that almost makes up for it. Also, he’s on a lot of Ambien. It’s taking the edge off things.

Benji shrugs. “You’re probably the most important client I’ve had in a while, but it’s not the first time I’ve had military police on my tail. You get used to it.”

“You  _ do?”  _

  
  


A baseball cap, a giant camera, a polo shirt and jacket and some jeans is enough to transform Ethan into a new man. The garish sunglasses and ugly bleach job on his head just adds to the picture.

It’s not the first time Ethan’s worn Kevlar - the perks of the job, really - but it’s the first time it’s been able to fit underneath a polo shirt. 

“Fantastic.” Benji says, looking over Ethan with a critical eye. “You look exactly like a divorced dad going through a midlife crisis.”

“Thanks.” He grumbles. His hair stinks. “I’m… exactly one of those things.” 

“Divorced?” The bodyguard asks, like he doesn’t  _ know.  _

It’s not as though he could have missed it, it was all over the papers when it happened.

“Mhmm.” Ethan scrubs at his hair with a rough towel. It doesn’t get better. “Husband was cheating on me with our chef. Stereotypes, I know.” 

“At least it wasn’t the tennis instructor.” Benji says, and takes the towel from him, “Mine was. I guess cheating husbands are the in thing right now. Want some help?”

“Yeah.” 

His hair looks marginally better when Benji is done with it, but only just. Ethan’s more preoccupied with the ‘cheating husband’ thing. He supposes most bodyguards don’t have ‘recreationally queer’ on their resumes. 

  
  


The thing is, Ethan doesn’t  _ do  _ this. He works out, goes to the gym everyday, drinks kombucha and eats flaxseed and maintains his body, but he’s never been on the run.

Well, there’s always time to do new things.

“I don’t like this,” Will says, and strong-arms Ethan into a hug, “Don’t die.”

“I will try not to,” Ethan replies, and slaps Will on the back. “See you at home.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Will grumbles, and steps back. “I’ll just take the long way. Your hair stinks, btw.”

“Get lost.”

  
  


Benji and Ethan walk across a crowded plaza. The sun’s high in the sky, and they’ve got a few miles before they get to a train that can take them to a quiet airstrip on the outskirts of the city.

It’s hot. Wetness from Ethan’s damp hair slips down his neck and soaks into the neck of his t-shirt, which is fairly pleasurable, but he can’t shake the faint itchiness from the dye.

...Itchiness? 

“Please tell me I am not breaking out in hives,” Ethan says.

Benji looks over at him, with a quick turn of his head. “Nope.”

“Not on my face, my neck.” He says, because despite the fact his life’s on the line, he’s uncomfortable, and he doesn’t like feeling uncomfortable. 

“You’re interrupting my job,” Benji says, but checks Ethan’s neck anyway. He pokes at a spot, right in the middle, in a way that feels a little like a punishment. “You’re imagining things.”

“Fine,” Ethan replies, though it’s not. 

The sun beats down. He’s got a headache, a raspy throat, and he just wants water. Cold, straight from the fridge. He’s acting a little like a diva, but he has the right to. It’s extenuating circumstances, really.

“How much further?” He asks, in a way that definitely doesn’t sound at all childish.

“A couple of kms.” Benji replies, nicely, which is far nicer than he deserves. “Are you doing alright?”

He thinks about it. “...Yeah.”

“Good.”

They walk in silence for a few more minutes, and it’s just too much. Benji had been personable - nice, even - when they’d been inside the safehouse, but this is boring. “How’d you get this gig?” He asks, because he’s anything but subtle, “...No offense, but you don’t-”

“Seem the type to become a bodyguard?” Benji says, ruefully, turning back to glance at him, “Yeah. Thing is, if you look like me, people don’t expect anything. I look like I belong in a lab. They’re not going to notice me in a crowd, because I look like a tourist, and here, no-one expects tourists.”

“Hiding in plain sight?”

“Something like that,” Benji says, and smiles at him, “Nice of you to ask, though. Most people just assume I’m the wrong guy. Seriously, though, I’ve had to give people refunds because I’m not like six-two with muscles the size of my head.”

“Well, I’m glad I’ve got you.” 

Because, really, he is. The amount of bodyguards who’ve just treated him as the rich guy, or like he’s made of glass - being able to travel with someone who knows what they’re doing without being pretentious about it is a nice change. 

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Benji replies, and keeps on walking. 

  
  


They’re hurrying down a lonely street, shopfronts closed and tables empty. It feels a little more uncomfortable when the sun’s not hitting his face. The silence is eerie, too. It’s strange.

Benji’s on edge. He’s not said anything, but it’s obvious in his face, his stature.

Ethan feels a curl of fear in his stomach, just a little. If his bodyguard is nervous, then - “What’s happening?”

“Quie-” Benji begins, but immediately shoves him to the left and out of sight beneath a veranda as an armoured transport vehicle roars down around the corner and into the street. “Stay down.”

Troops, far more than should ever be deserved for  _ him,  _ emerge from the vehicle, guns drawn. They’re shouting in French, he realises, but his thoughts are too scattered for him to make out much through the pounding in his head.

They’re here to kill him. They’re here to  _ kill  _ him.

Benji’s scanning the road. They’re in the shadows, but it won’t do much. “Come on.” He says, and grabs Ethan roughly by the forearm, pulling him away and towards a shop front.

Ethan just stumbles along, feet falling out beneath him. He can’t think, he can’t feel, just knows he has to run.

The storefront is open, once Benji pushes gently at the handle. He slides the door open and they step into a branded bakery, of one chain or another. There’s no-one around, no-one there to ask for help. 

“What now?” Ethan hisses, as Benji pulls him down and past rows and rows of baked bread.

“Back door.” Benji says, never faltering, never hesitating, just moving straight along.

But there isn’t one. The store emerges out into a small kitchen and bathroom, but there’s nothing.

“Well-” Benji says, but stops as there’s a rattle of gunfire from outside the shop, “What the hell did you do to piss them off?” 

“I’m-”

But Ethan stops again, because this time, the gunfire is closer.

“Up, up, up-” Benji hisses, dragging him to his feet again and up a small staircase in the hallway by the shop’s kitchen. “We’ve got to go up.”

“Up?” It’s mad. It’s  _ insane.  _ “Where the hell are we going to go?”

“We can’t stay here.” Benji’s insistent, but not panicked. He looks worried, but not afraid.

Ethan’s just feeling a lot right now. He can’t quite quantify it, can’t split it into separate emotions, just knows that he has to move, has to run, has to get away. He trips on the stairs, pulls himself up to his feet with his knees bleeding through his jeans, and they stumble out into a small apartment, with wide windows and gorgeous views out across the city.

“They’ll be going store to store.” Benji says, and peers out gingerly through the window. “They’re methodical, trained. They won’t miss us.”

“What the  _ hell  _ do we do?” Ethan gasps, his breath coming out in little pants, “Tell me.”

“I can’t take them all.” Benji huffs, “One, two, but not-”

But he cuts the sentence off as there’s a thudding on the stairs, getting closer and closer. 

“Get down-” And Benji lands a hand between his collarbones and pushes him straight to the floor behind the bed, just as a spear of bullets hit the wall behind where his head just was. 

The singular assailant aims his weapon, and lets loose, firing bullets rapidly into the room. Thick wads of cotton from the pillow and duvet go flying, coating the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and Ethan trembles, holding himself to the ground, sharp pain slicing through his chest on each breath.

He’s not injured, he thinks, but he can’t- 

The assailant loosens another round of bullets, but they’re cut short as Benji launches himself out of his hiding place behind the apartment’s closet and knocks him to the floor. The pair grapple, rolling over and over one another, crushing wine glasses and books to the floor underneath their bodies. The floor is covered in glass, and the assailant flinches, as Benji wraps an arm around his head, pulls tight and pushes his body away from the enemy. 

They struggle.

They struggle.

They struggle.

And the man goes limp, firearm falling from his hands.

“Benji-” Ethan gasps, stunned beyond belief, because he’d  _ believed  _ the man, but he’d not BELIEVED HIM until he’d seen his skills in action, “Let’s-”

“No time,” Benji grunts, and ducks his head out the window on the other side of the room. 

Ethan can see another storefront, about a metre or so away. He thinks, a little deliriously, that it’s probably a cafe.

“Out.” The bodyguard pushes the window open, and drags Ethan up and out onto the roof.

“But I don’t-”

He doesn’t-

“What?” Benji growls, “What?”

“I don’t- heights?”

“Heights or certain death, Ethan?”

When it’s put like that… “Yep, got your point,” and he throws himself out the window.

It’s a breakneck scurry across rooftops, in a way that’s far too reminiscent of his favourite action movies - he’s never going to watch another one again, that’s for sure - and within minutes, they’re down on solid ground, dashing away around another corner.

“Can- we- stop-” Ethan gasps, because he thought he was fit, but Benji is  _ fit _ , “Can we-”

“One minute.” Benji says, and they push back against a wall to catch their collective breaths, resting next to a collection of gravel and stones near the side of the road.

Which is when the soldier comes around the corner, pistol drawn, and there’s nowhere to run.

“Haut les mains!” He yells, his voice dark and terrifying. “Par terre! Fais le maintenant!” 

There’s nowhere to run. 

“Let’s just-” Benji begins, but the man fires.

Ethan crumples to the ground, pure white hot pain slicing through his thigh. It hurts more than anything else in the world, and suddenly he can’t breathe. He swallows, a scream pressing through his lips in a muffled groan. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. 

“Haut les mains!” The soldier says again, and this time he’s not asking. 

Benji raises his hands. “Gotcha. Yes, officer. Thank you.” He starts lowering himself to the ground, hands still held high. “Thank you.” 

Ethan grits his teeth, thigh still burning. He notices blood pumping out quite fast through his fingers, pooling on the road, and suddenly, he can’t see.

Everything’s in double, all of a sudden. He can’t tell through the haze.

“Thank you, officer.” Benji says, lowering his hands to the ground, before he collects a handful of gravel and tosses it straight in the soldier’s face. 

The soldier screams out in pain, batting at his eyes, which Benji uses as his opportunity to strike. He leaps to his feet, knocking the officer’s pistol from his hands with one sharp strike, and flips the man to the ground with the remaining momentum.

They grapple, fighting and pulling at each other for two horrifying, fearful, brutal moments. Benji ducks an elbow to the head, gets it in the face instead, his nose cracking and pouring blood straight down his face. He rolls, knocks the assailant to the side, slamming his head into the pavement, once, twice and -

It’s done.

Ethan drops his head back to the ground, vision rapidly greying out. He wants to get up, wants to stand, wants to escape, but he’s just so tired, and he just needs a nap…

“Ethan! Ethan.  _ ETHAN. _ ”

  
  


It’s nice to wake up in a hospital bed.

He doesn’t love it, but it’s much preferable to a prison. Or a coffin. Or not waking up at all.

Will sits up in his chair, and looks him over with a critical eye, “Thought I told you not to get into any trouble.”

“You said nothing about trouble,” Ethan says, tiredly, “Death is different.”

“You were fairly close to that, too.” Benji says, from the other side of the bed, and it’s a  _ wonder  _ to see him there. “You nearly died on the table.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t.” Ethan says, “So- what’s the prognosis?”

“Thigh wound.” Will says, shortly, “You’re not going to be walking around for a while. Damn near would have died if Benji hadn’t dragged you out of there.”

“You dragged me?” Ethan gasps, a little shocked. He thinks that he might be on some heavy painkillers - that’d at least explain how much he wants to kiss Benji right now for saving his life. “How?

“It’s my job.” Benji says, unselfconsciously. “Also, you’re not that heavy.”

“Thought you said he wouldn’t be a good investment.” Ethan casts a look over at Will, who has the decency to look a little embarrassed.

“He saved your life,” Will says, and shrugs, “And without a drop of blood on his ugly shirt. I’m not going to apologise, but-”

That’s about as good an apology he’s going to get. Will just doesn’t give out compliments. 

“My shirts are not ugly.” Benji says, and smooths down his shirt. He’s wearing another Hawaiian one. It is as ugly as the first.

His face, however, is not.

Ethan is very grateful. Very, very grateful. It’s a problem. “...Benji?”

“Yes, Ethan?” Benji brightens, just a little. It’s a good look.

“Thank you. For saving my life.”

“Like I said, it’s my job.” Benji says, and lays a hand on his arm, “It’s not like it was a hardship.”

Ethan can just  _ hear  _ Will rolling his eyes. He says, “The way I see it, I’m not a tennis instructor.”

“Christ, did they give you too many painkillers again?” Will groans, “I swear, if I have to listen to you singing  _ Party Rock Anthem  _ again I’ll-”

“I’m not a tennis instructor, but I do know a variety of good restaurants.” Ethan says, ignoring Will in the way that he’s wont to do. It’s not the best line, but he’s got a deadly injury, so he’s allowed to be less charming than usual. “Want to get dinner with me?”

Benji smiles, slowly, gratuitously. “I think that’d be nice.”

“Great!” Ethan says, “So where do you-”

“Can I just ask something, first?” Benji thumbs at his lower lip, for a moment. “I’ve been thinking about it for three days.”

“Yeah?”

“Why were the military police chasing us, anyway? What did you  _ do?” _

“Oh, that’s easy.” Ethan begins, “I was at a party with the Prime Minister’s daughter and…”

  
  


It’s only mostly a lie. 

(It's classified.)

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on the [ tumblr ](http://eph-em-era.tumblr.com)


End file.
